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Friday, October 16, 2015

The Quaildogs AND Harvester

The Quaildogs bring something special to the table, that's for sure. They seamlessly blend the gently earnest tone and harmonies of today's hipster folk with the casual, back-handed irony of '90s alt-rock. The end result is deliciously sharp. The Getting Old Factory begins with a hopeful chord, those trendy tambourines, and firmly puts us in our place:

I cook my food in a microwaveThink about all the time I savedHaven't left my apartment in daysBut something tells me that the world still looks the same

The lyrics might seem more at home with distorted guitars and a shot glass, but the Quaildogs' irrepressible determination to be unhappy makes it work. Somehow, the Quaildogs avoid irony. They capture the impatience of the early 20s ("Oh, shit -- is this all there is? For the rest of my life? For real?") with a resigned fatalism. Unlike their '90s counterparts (and perhaps a little too in line with us millenials), they accept the drudgery of early adulthood without a fight. But The Getting Old Factory is more affirming than it is a downer. Maybe it's because the lyrics are just so damn smart. With most of the songs clocking in at above 4 minutes, the album is one of those rare instances were rock'n'roll is elevated to something that is -- dare I say -- beautiful, intentional, and artistic. The Getting Old Factory is one of the best albums I've come across this year.

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In times of change, we turn to music. There is no denying that this election brought out the cracks in American society. There is no denying that there are entire segments of the population that do not know or understand each other. The best way to do so is by listening to each other. This blog stands against the racism, homophobia, transphobia, nationalism, xenophobia, Islamophobia, ableism, and normalizing of rape culture that was present in American society but is now normalized by Trump's campaign rhetoric. This blog commits to featuring the voices of LGBT and POC artists, even if and when that means straying outside of Americana. We want you to listen to everyone's voices.